


The Game

by GoodandIneffable



Series: Good Omens Fic Week [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Characters Play Dungeons & Dragons, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, No Miracles, Teachers, teacher of the year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 08:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodandIneffable/pseuds/GoodandIneffable
Summary: It started as a game. Who, after 5,998 years on earth, could win teacher of the year.





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this prewritten for about a week and as unperfect as it is, I'm not upset with it.  
(also page breaks are added in to show time passing)
> 
> [For day 3, teachers au]

It began as a game. Not an innocent one, but intended for fun all the same. Crowley was quick to claim History. Aziraphale found it harder to choose a course after learning that librarians _ didn’t count. _ Eventually, he settled into Zoology- which had been decided after one drunken night of educating the demon on gorillas and their habits. 

The goal, to win teacher of the year. The only rule, no miracles to coerce the children in their votes. 

“History?” Aziraphale scoffs lightheartedly as he steps into the room. “You slept for a whole century, my dear, I don’t see how this is a good idea.”

“Oh, shut up, I know more than you.”

“Do you? Whose fault was the Plague, mh?” This has always been the subject of debate between the two, with Crowley arguing he had absolutely no hand in the matter. 

“No, no,” Crowley shakes his head, standing from the swivel chair. He’s lanky and awkward behind the short desk but in a way the contrast suits him. “_ You _ told them I did that, I was just passing through.” 

“Did I?” The wry smile on Aziraphale’s face is tempting. “I do suppose my memory just isn’t the same.”

“Damned angel,” Crowley says. “What about you? Half expected literature.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale shrugs. “But no, It’s nice to have new things.”

“Mhm. New.” The demon takes a step back. The bell rings. “You ought to go, yeah?”

“I might as well,” Aziraphale agrees and turns to leave. He pauses and gazes at Crowley. “Good luck, my dear. I wish you a lovely first day.”

“You too,” Crowley grunts.

The first month is a blur. Two kids have already been kicked from one of Aziraphale’s classes and another one from Crowley’s after setting a book on fire. Spontaneous combustion is a truly ineffable thing. 

“Mr. C?”

“Warlock, how can I help?” Crowley immediately glances up from the computer, eyes falling upon a boy in his 3rd-period European history class. 

“Just- Well, I didn’t get a bit of the lesson from yesterday. Would it be alright for you to go over some for me?” He asks, but Crowley feels like it’s a ruse. Like there’s something missing or just deeper. He doesn’t ask. 

“Course. C’mon, pull out your notes.” If he’s honest, Crowley’s quite pleased with his teaching abilities. 

Warlock takes the seat beside him- one that also faces the rest of the study hall class. There’s a clear and present distraction, but Crowley’s not one to embarrass a kid with an awful crush on one of the other poor and unsuspecting 16-year-olds. So, he continues his mini-lecture on the Bronze Age and Warlock continues staring. An hour later and across the school Crowley’s tucked into one of the small desks smack in the middle of Aziraphale’s classroom, a stack of ungraded homework in front of him. 

“I think it’s that boy,” Crowley snaps his fingers. “That kid- that- that- Andrew? A-Aaron? Last name Young!”

“Yes, Adam,” Aziraphale says. He’s feeding some fish and not really interested in Crowley’s interest in teenage love stories. 

“Him! Yes!” Crowley cries. “Kept starin at the table that poor bastard sits at with his friends.”

“I don't really see how it’s any of your business, dear.” He puts away the food and slides the cover back on the top as the guppies feast. 

“You connect with the children, they like you.”

“You try too hard and they think you’re absolutely ‘cringe’, trust me.”

“They’ll warm up t’you, Angel,” Crowley says genuinely. “Promise.”

“Don’t pull a miracle.” Aziraphale’s got this cross expression- one that presses his eyebrows close together. 

“Won’t,” Crowley swears, and then asks: “Your day alright?”

“It was fine. Perfectly fine.”

“Fine,” He repeats. “Sure. Wanna go for dinner?”

“Din- Crowley, I have to-“ 

“Have to what?” With a snap of his fingers, Crowley grades both their stacks with surprising accuracy. He smirks.

“You wiley old serpent.” Aziraphale’s face loosens and a smile dares across his lips. “Alright, let’s go, shall we?”

  


_ ~~b~~ _

“A club?” 

“Yes, a club.”

“I’ve never run a club before,” Aziraphale sighs, folding his hands together. 

“Well you wouldn’t run it alone,” She says and holds out a flyer. “We need two teachers to take the club to conventions and I heard you’d be up for it.”

“Conventions? Wait, who did you hear from?” Aziraphale honestly likes Anathema, after getting over her American accent, but he doesn’t see how he’s her choice. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think-”

“Please, Mr. Fell.” 

“I-“ It’s like Crowley, only slightly different. This woman oozes temptation of her own brand, likely unknowingly and not _ true _ temptation, but it’s potent enough to catch his attention. “Oh, what the hell, yes, alright.”

That’s how Aziraphale becomes a supervisor for the DND club. It’s only that Adam boy and his three other friends for a few weeks until after the first campaign ends and another boy shuffles into Aziraphale’s room after school. Crowley, sitting behind the angel’s desk and minding his own business (for the most part), looks up at him with a tiny smirk. 

“Warlock?”

“Hi, Mr. C,” He says in his own small voice. 

“Watcha doing here, kid?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale and the other kids are now looking; Warlock adopts a nervous feel about him. 

“I wanted to join. If that’s alright?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale says and beckons him over, pointing to the space beside Wensleydale and Pepper. “We were just choosing our characters for a new campaign!”

In the short three weeks Aziraphale had led the club, he’d become an incredible dungeon master, memorizing the ins and outs of every good adventure. 

“I suppose I’ll be an elf?”

“Wonderful choice!” Aziraphale nods quickly, handing him a character sheet. 

“Dragonborn’s are better,” Pepper mumbles from behind her own paper. 

“I’m a tiefling called Thorndlim!” Says Brian, who then launches into describing his weapons. 

“Tiefling?” Crowley chuckles. “Just call it a demon, hm? Where’re the angels? Maybe Mr. Fell oughta play as one.” Aziraphale shoots him a knowing and unamused look. 

“DM’s can only insert NPC’s.” Crowley waves Adam off and they continue on with the start of the journey, Warlock following along intently. 

  
  


_ ~~b~~ _

“I suppose you predicted it,” Crowley says some six months later when the schoolyard is welcoming the first wave of spring. Both he and the angel are too focused on the boys across the courtyard holding hands to notice much of anything else. 

“I told you,” Aziraphale gloats. “It wasn’t Adam.”

“And you were right, Angel,” Crowley sighs, narrowing his eyes at Warlock and Brian. He sits back abruptly when Pepper runs over to them, her jacket bouncing with her shoulders. 

“Hello,” She says. 

“Good afternoon, Pepper.” Aziraphale greets her with a grin. 

“Do we have a test today?” Crowley gives her a nod. She pouts. 

“You can use your damn notes, you little scorpion,” He adds, adjusting his glasses. 

“Thanks, Mr. C!” She moves to dart back to the Them. 

“Vote me for teacher of the year!” He calls after her. She pauses and glances back. 

“Haha, sure,” Pepper laughs, then is sucked back into teenage antics. 

“That’s not fair!” Aziraphale huffs. “Asking them to do it, you can’t control your temptation.”

“I bloody well can, Angel, I do it all the time around you,” Crowley shoots back. Aziraphale gives him a sidelong look. 

“Well, I’m just used to it.”

“You’d know if I was tempting anyone.” Crowley nudges Aziraphale gently. “Besides, can never tell what's real or not with these sarcastic little shits.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley laughs, standing and offering a hand to Aziraphale. “May I offer you some lunch?”

Aziraphale can _ smell _ the sweet temptation wafting from Crowley before he feels it.

“I know you’re trying to prove a point, but I _ am _ positively famished.”

  


_ ~~b~~ _

The PA system clicks on and the woman principal's voice is sharp and clear. 

“Hello, and good afternoon, staff and students of St. Mary’s Secondary School,” She says. Downstairs, Crowley snaps his students to a vague understanding of attention. Upstairs, Aziraphale shushes his class. “As we all know, today is the last day of classes. Congratulations on making it with such success. As always, we have results from student body elections, faculty awards, and summer athletic announcements. Firstly, your 12th-year student president for next year will be..”

Both ethereal beings tune out the children cheering for their friends, only truly searching for the four words they so desperately wish to hear. However, it is rather nice for Pepper to be year 11’s president. 

“Custodian of the year goes to Lindsey Maifield, congrats, love. And last, but not least, is our teacher of the year. Congratulations... Mister Anthony Crowley. Have a lovely summer everyone!”

Crowley jumps on his desk, arms straight up in the air as the kids, giggling in their seats, cheer for him. If it weren’t for the bet, he’d feel rather embarrassed, but finally finding something he’s better at than the angel is rather enjoyable. 

The bell rings short after. Aziraphale swerves his way from the crowded and paper strewn halls out to the Bentley, pausing when he sees Crowley propped against it. 

“Congratulations, my dear! You won fair and square.”

Crowley’s pride has diminished significantly. “You miracled it, di’nt you?”

“Pardon me?”

“Made me win over the others cause you knew I wouldn’t-“

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says with soft features as he takes one of Crowley’s boney hands. Love courses through the touch, overwhelming the demon’s already weakened defenses. “I did no such thing. The children adore you just that much.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asks, almost smiling. 

“Yes. Now shall we celebrate?” He asks, giving a good squeeze into their grip on each other. “Let’s say, the Ritz?”

“Course. Hop in, Angel.” Crowley starts up the engine. “What does Teacher of the Year win?”

“Oh good Lord,” Aziraphale chuckles. 


End file.
